


exactly what i need

by wearing_tearing



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Episode: s01e04 Let's Get to Scooping, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Connor Walsh, Rimming, Self-Lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:36:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2785229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh my god,” Oliver says out loud, more to himself than to Connor. “You’re in heat.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	exactly what i need

**Author's Note:**

> obligatory heat fic!! kind of. more like mild heat tbh but i tried!!1
> 
>  **spoilers through 1x04** , in case you're not all caught up :D
> 
> betad by [whatthehale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale/). thank you bb :*
> 
> **i do not give permission for any of my works to be added to or shared on other websites such as goodreads.**

"I screwed up."

"What— Connor?" Oliver's eyes widen as he pulls the door open another inch, sleep and anger for being woken up at this hour completely forgotten.

Connor is standing there, cheeks flushed and hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his gaze wild and unfocused.

"I screwed up so bad," Connor says, his voice shaking and his breathing shallow.

Oliver's never seen Connor like this, not completely in control of himself. It's such a contrast from how Connor always presents himself that Oliver is frozen for a second, standing in the open doorway in nothing but his boxers and a sleep shirt, staring at Connor because  he doesn’t know what to do.

Connor keeps muttering and mumbling under his breath, pacing from Oliver’s door to the hallway wall, entire body coiled tight. His breaths are coming up short, his cheeks pale, the whites of his eyes showing as he looks around. He looks scared, and that, more than anything, is what finally gets Oliver to take a step forward, slowly as if approaching a skittish animal. Because that's what Connor looks like to him now, scared and like he's about to flee if Oliver makes the wrong move.

And as angry as Oliver still is with him, he can't risk that. Not when Connor looks about halfway into a panic attack, struggling to breathe, body shaking, and face pale. His momma raised him better than that, to always help someone when they needed it. And Connor obviously needs _something_.

Oliver takes another step closer just as Connor leans against the wall and slides down to the floor, still talking, still muttering, still saying he _screwed up, screwed up, he screwed up so bad_.

It's not until Oliver kneels down beside him and places a hand on Connor's shoulder over his winter coat that he gets a reaction. Or at least one that doesn't involve Connor freaking out even more. And it is _not_ what he is expecting.

Because as soon as his hand touches Connor, Connor's entire body twitches and he goes limp, neck arching so he can turn his head in Oliver's direction, pale throat bared.

Oliver is so shocked by that display that it takes his brain a second to reboot. And when it does, his senses follow, mind finally registering the sweet scent in the air surrounding Connor. And doesn’t _that_ explain some things.

“Oh my god,” Oliver says out loud, more to himself than to Connor. “You’re in heat.”

Or in the beginnings of it, at least. Oliver knows it’ll get worse the more time passes, especially now that Connor is near him, an alpha.

Connor doesn’t look like he’s listening. He’s stopped shaking and muttering, but the silence does more to freak Oliver out than seeing Connor about to hyperventilate in front of his apartment door did.

And that’s not good.

Because now that Oliver’s touching him, Connor’s scent is turning thicker. Soon enough, one of Oliver’s neighbors is bound to notice the smell of omega in heat all over the hallway and come looking for the source. And, as angry and hurt as Oliver still is, he can’t let that happen.

“Come on,” Oliver says, getting his hands under Connor’s arms and pulling him up. “You can’t stay outside like this.”

Connor complies, body loose and pliant as Oliver snakes an arm around his waist and heads inside.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says suddenly, voice quiet and subdued and nothing like him. “I never meant to screw up this bad.”

Oliver thinks Connor is not only talking about what happened between them, but something else entirely. He doesn’t push the subject. Right now, all he needs to do is make sure Connor is okay and has a safe place to spend his heat.

Oliver would take him to his apartment to do that, only he has no idea where Connor lives. And isn’t _that_ great? They always spent the night together at Oliver’s apartment, and he never thought to ask Connor to show him where he lived.

It’s because they weren’t a couple, not really. And from the little Oliver got from Connor during the time they spent together, Connor wasn’t very fond of alphas. Oliver doesn’t know what makes him different, but it might be that he doesn’t fill all the stereotypes an alpha should, much like Connor doesn’t act like an omega.

“It’s okay,” Oliver says, sighing. “Let’s just get you warm. You look like you’re freezing.”

Oliver knows that’s not going to last long, not with Connor in the beginning of his heat. That’s not a reason to leave him in his winter clothes, though, looking pale and shivery.

Connor nods, following Oliver to the bathroom. He doesn’t protest when Oliver starts unbuttoning his coat, just stands there and stares. He looks a little more alert than before, which is good, but they both know that that’s _also_ not going to last long.

Oliver himself is having a bit of a hard time with Connor this close to him, the sweet scent of Connor’s heat filling his nose. Connor already smelled good to him, but right now he is mouth-watering. 

Not that Oliver gives into the urge to duck his head down and bury his face against the crook of Connor’s neck, to mouth at his pulse, to suck a mark into his throat. He just looks down at his fingers and concentrates on getting Connor out of his clothes. 

But not in a sexy way, no sir.

Not until they sit down and have a conversation about why Connor came to him when his heat started and what he expects from Oliver.

“We’re going to need to talk about this,” Oliver tells him.

He wants to ask Connor what happened that made him forget to take his suppressants, wants to ask what made him come here, wants to ask what got him this scared and freaked out of his mind.

“I know,” Connor says quietly. “But I don’t want to.”

Oliver snorts. “You never do.”

That’s what got them to this point. Connor being evasive and uncommunicative and often mocking Oliver for speaking his feelings. They never had an honest discussion about what they had between them, not until Connor went ahead and fucked someone else before coming back to Oliver’s bed.

Oliver turns around to turn on the water after getting Connor out of his coat, pants, and sweater, leaving him in his boxers and shirt in the middle of his bathroom. He checks the water, feeling its warmth against his fingers.

“I’ll get you some clothes while you shower,” Oliver says to Connor. “Then, we’ll sit and talk about what’s going on and what you want to do.”

Connor lets out a breath, lips turning down. He looks so displeased at the prospect of talking that it makes Oliver want to laugh.

“Do we really have to talk?” Connor asks. “Can’t you just fuck me until this is all over?”

Connor tries for a smirk, letting it slip off his face when Oliver just stares at him and shakes his head.

“That might be how you usually do this,” Oliver says, trying very hard not to think about Connor’s past heats and how he dealt with them. “But that’s not how things work with me. You’re going to shower, put on sweatpants and a shirt, and then I’m gonna make you some tea and we’ll talk. And no complaining about how awful my clothes are or how shitty the tea tastes.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Connor jokes.

“Maybe I should be a lawyer, then.”

“No,” Connor says, humor gone. “You really shouldn’t.”

Oliver presses his lips together, but doesn’t comment. “I’ll leave you to it,” Oliver says, making his way out of the bathroom.

“Hey,” Connor calls after him, smiling a little when Oliver turns back. “Thank you.”

Oliver blinks. Receiving a thanks from Connor is not that common. Rewards — _sexy_ rewards —, sure, but not actual ‘thank you’s.

“You’re welcome,” he still says, closing the door behind him.

Oliver grabs an old pair of dark gray sweats and a black faded hoodie, leaving them folded neatly by the side of the bathroom door. He then busies himself boiling water and trying to decide which is the nastiest tea he has in the apartment to make for Connor. Because Oliver is willing to help Connor, but that still doesn’t mean he can’t be a little mean about it.

He also tries _not_ to think about Connor naked and wet in his shower, and how his bathroom will smell of him when he’s done. Oliver will have to avoid it for a while, not wanting to get lost in himself because of Connor’s scent permeating the air.

At least, not until they’ve discussed this and established boundaries.

It takes about fifteen minutes for Oliver to hear the water shut off, and he doesn’t waste any time grabbing the steaming mugs of tea and taking them to the living room. It’s another five minutes before Connor appears, cheeks flushed and hair wet, looking and smelling _delicious_ in Oliver’s clothes.

“Sit,” Oliver says, pointing to one end of the couch while he makes himself comfortable on the opposite side.

Connor doesn’t protest, just does as he’s told. But he does wrinkle his nose when Oliver hands him his mug, grimacing at the taste when he takes a tentative sip.

Oliver hides a small smile behind his own drink.

Or tries to. He doesn’t think he’s that successful when Connor narrows his eyes and glares at him.

“So,” Oliver says, clearing his throat. Connor lowers his eyes, suddenly finding his tea to be the most interesting thing in the room. “Connor,” Oliver sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose with a finger.

“I’m not the one who wanted to talk,” Connor tells him, annoyed.

“Your heat is starting,” Oliver says, because he’s not going to let Connor out of this one. “You came to me, out of all people, when you realized it was happening.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Connor says.

And _oh_ , isn’t that another punch in the gut?

“You didn’t mean to,” Oliver repeats, voice flat.

“I— That’s not—,” Connor huffs, frustrated. He runs a hand through his wet hair, making it more of a mess. “I wasn’t thinking. I know I fucked up and I know you’re angry at me, with good reason, but I wasn’t thinking. I was just— I was _freaking out_ , and I needed to be somewhere safe.”

Oliver swallows hard, heart beating fast in his chest. “And that somewhere is with me.”

Connor shrugs, and smiles a sad smile.

Oliver stares at him, considering. Connor finding a safe place in his apartment and in his company means a lot, not that he’s going to admit it, and not that he’s going to let it get to his head, not now. Because they’re not okay, and this, even though it makes Oliver’s heart flip in his chest, is not even going to _begin_ to make things okay between them.

“Do you want me to help you?” Oliver asks, proud of how calm he sounds. “Or do you want me to get you what you need and leave you alone until it’s all over?”

Connor’s jaw clenches when he looks up, eyes hot and intense. “I didn’t come here to do this alone.”

Oliver didn’t think so, but it’s good to hear Connor say it. He also knows what his answer is going to be, but he needs Connor to understand that this doesn’t change things.

“I can help you, if you want me to.”

“I want you to,” Connor interrupts.

Oliver raises an eyebrow at him, unamused, even though his body grows hot knowing Connor wants to do this with him.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” Oliver tells him, lips thinning when Connor winces slightly. “This doesn’t mean I am going to forget what happened, and this doesn’t mean things between us are okay or are going right back to how they were before.”

“I know,” Connor says quietly. “I’m not asking that of you.”

“You’d need to do a lot of groveling before I even considered that,” Oliver admits, ignoring the way Connor’s snaps to attention. “And we’d need to have a very long and serious talk after that. About _feelings_ and _commitment_.”

Oliver would laugh at the disgruntled look on Connor’s face at the word ‘commitment’, only nothing about this is funny.

“I know you don’t like that, but it’ll have to happen,” Oliver says. “I’m not putting myself in the same situation I was in before. Not again.”

Because he deserves better than that. He deserves better than someone who just uses him for what he can do or for how good of a fuck he is. No matter how much he likes Connor, how much he loves to be with him, he’s not going to let himself be treated like that again, not by Connor or anyone else.

“What if I don’t want that?” Connor asks.

“Then after this is over, you leave and don’t came back,” Oliver says, hands gripping his mug so tight his knuckles turn white. “Not to fuck, not to ask for help, not to get me to do anything for you. You get out of my life and stay gone.”

It’ll hurt, but Oliver knows he’ll get over it. He’ll get over Connor. He’ll mope for a week or two, put a dent in his alcohol stock, and feel sorry for himself, but then he’ll pick himself up again and move on. Hopefully to better, hotter, and taller things.

“But you’d still help me with this?”

And Connor sounds vulnerable, in a way he’s never sounded before.

“Yes,” Oliver says, softer this time. “I’d still help you. But then I’d see you out of my life.”

“You’d still want me, though?” Connor asks, and then makes a face like it pains him to continue. “After the groveling and the _feelings_ _and commitment_ talk, you’d still want me?”

“Wanting you was never a problem,” Oliver says, shaking his head.

Connor’s lips twitch. “Only my shitty personality was.”

“You said it,” Oliver shrugs one shoulder, but he’s smiling too.

“I’ve never been in a relationship before,” Connor says after a few seconds, voice low. Almost like he’s embarrassed to admit it.

“I figured,” Oliver replies. “We can talk about that later, though.”

“Yeah?” Connor looks up at him, hesitant but obviously relieved.

“Yeah,” Oliver says. “Along with what happened to you tonight.”

Oliver startles at the way Connor’s entire body goes tense, his eyes wide, all the color he’s gotten back after his shower rushing out of his face.

“I can’t tell you that,” Connor says, harsh and pleading. “Don’t ask me to tell you that.”

“Connor—,” Oliver tries, stomach churning, mind reeling with possibilities about what might have happened to cause Connor to react like this.

“No,” Connor says, shaking his head. He puts his mug on the coffee table and gets up, his hands shaking a little. “I can leave if you want me to. I should be alright if I take a cab home now.”

“You’re not leaving,” Oliver says, snatching Connor’s wrist and stopping him short. “Not when you’re like this.”

“I can’t tell you,” Connor repeats, staring at Oliver with wide eyes.

“Okay,” Oliver says, thumb rubbing circles over Connor’s pulse point. “Okay, you don’t have to. But don’t leave.”

“Sorry,” Connor deflates, suddenly looking like he’s about to keel over in exhaustion. “I’m sorry.”

“Come on,” Oliver says, swallowing back all the questions he wants to ask. Instead he snakes an arm around Connor’s waist, taking his weight. “It’s okay. Let’s just get you to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Connor nods, letting Oliver get him settled into the bedroom. He doesn’t even make a crack about Oliver tucking the covers around him, just gets one hand under Oliver’s pillow and buries his face in it, cheek rubbing against the pillowcase.

And Oliver doesn’t think about what his bed will smell like later — of Connor and omega and _heat_.

“Hey,” Connor says, blinking up at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Oliver answers, because he doesn’t want to ask Connor not to make him regret this.

“Where are you going?” Connor asks when Oliver grabs one of the pillows and moves to the door.

“To the couch?” Oliver asks, suddenly unsure.

“Stay,” Connor says, patting the mattress. “It’s your bed. And it’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

“Not exactly like this, though,” Oliver points out.

“Come on,” Connor huffs, pulling the covers up. “It’ll help if you’re close. And I haven’t been off my suppressants for years, I don’t know how fast this is going to hit me.”

“How did that happen, anyway?” Oliver asks, setting his pillow down and climbing in bed. “It doesn’t sound like you.”

Oliver doesn’t know that, not really. It doesn’t _seem_ like something Connor would do, though, forgetting his suppressants like that. Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever seen Connor with a hair out of place or clothes looking less than perfect. You know, at least not outside of bed after they’ve spent the night fucking.

“I had other things on my mind,” Connor says, leaving it at that.

Oliver doesn’t push it, especially when Connor yawns, big and loud and like it’s taking a lot out of him.

“Alright,” Oliver says, pushing the covers up to his chest. “Sleep. Talk in the morning.”

“Okay,” Connor mumbles, resting a hand on Oliver’s arm. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Good night, Connor,” Oliver tells him, fighting the urge to grab Connor’s hand in his.

* * *

Oliver should have seen this coming.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, really.

Even though he doesn’t have any practical experience with this, he knows the presence of an alpha affects an omega’s heat, accelerates it. He should have known it wouldn’t be any different with Connor.

Still, he’s surprised.

 _Really surprised_ and possibly a little happy, when he wakes up in the middle of the night to a warm body pressed against his, a wet mouth against his jaw, and a hand on its way down his pajama pants.

"What—," Oliver chokes out, momentarily distracted by Connor's tongue on his neck.

And the feeling of Connor against him.

And the _smell_ of omega in heat, hot and sweet and absolutely mouth-watering.

"Please," Connor gasps, pressing his hard on against Oliver's thigh. "I need— Oliver, you have to—"

"Okay," Oliver breathes out, turning so he's on his side and facing Connor. "Are you sure you want my help?"

"We already talked about—," Connor stops, whines low in his throat, and plasters himself to Oliver's front, hands finding their way under Oliver's shirt. " _Yes,_ please."

"Okay," Oliver says, cupping Connor's cheek. "Okay. I'll take care of you."

"Then take my fucking clothes off and _touch me_ ," Connor snaps, nails digging into Oliver's back.

Oliver makes a little sound in the back of his throat, half annoyed and half fond. He can't really argue with Connor about that, so he goes about ridding them of their clothes, all the while touching as much of Connor's skin as he can.

He knows it won't take long before Connor loses focus and starts acting just on instinct, so he's going to enjoying this as much as he can. And Oliver does that by catching Connor's lips in his, licking his way into Connor's mouth, taking his time tasting and kissing. 

Oliver hates to admit it, but he _missed this_. He missed kissing Connor, missed being naked with him, missed having him close and touching him and feeling their bodies pressed together.

He flips them over so Connor is on his back and Oliver is hovering over him, arms bracketing Connor’s head. Connor gasps into his mouth when Oliver leans his weight on him, their dicks sliding together over Connor’s stomach.

“Oliver,” Connor breathes out, rocking his hips forward. “ _Please_.”

Olive shushes him with another kiss, wet and deep. One of his hands runs down Connor’s chest, fingers stopping to play with a nipple until it’s hard and red and Connor is arching into the touch.

Oliver smiles to himself as he lets his mouth follow the same path of his hand, licking and nipping and kissing at Connor’s skin. He drinks in every little noise Connor makes — every gasp, every moan, every plead for _more_ and _Oliver_ and _c’mon_.

You know, until he gets to Connor’s crotch.

Then _he’s_ the one making some pretty filthy sounds.

Because when he’s _that close_ to Connor’s dick and ass, the sweet smell of Connor’s slick hits him so fast and so hard his head starts to spin. And his mouth starts to water. And then he has to take a few seconds and breathe through his mouth so he doesn’t lose control and end up doing something stupid.

“Are you alive down there?” Connor asks him, sounding surprisingly coherent.

“Shut up,” Oliver mumbles, pressing his nose against Connor’s inner thigh.

“Just asking,” Connor says. “Because I’m kind of dying here.”

Oliver snorts, placing a kiss to Connor’s tight before lifting his head up.

“I want to eat you out,” Oliver says, vision blurry as he stares up at Connor. He’s kind of sad he’s not wearing his glasses right now, because he’d love to see the state Connor’s in, but he knows that the lenses would probably end up getting fogged and dirty with slick and come. “Is that okay?”

Connor whines, needy and broken, hips bucking and looking for friction. “Are you going to fuck me later?”

“Yes.”

“More than okay,” Connor says, grasping the back of his knees and pulling them up to his chest, exposing himself to Oliver. “Now, c’mon. Show me the thing I taught you how to do with your tongue.”

And Oliver shows him, alright. 

He grips Connor by the hips and drags his tongue over Connor’s hole, moaning loud and deep at the first taste of Connor’s slick on his tongue. He traces his tongue around the rim, licking and teasing until Connor is pushing his ass back into Oliver’s face, making soft little broken noises of pleasure.

It doesn’t take long before Connor is flushed and shaking and a complete fucking mess, begging Oliver to, _“Please, fuck me_.”

“Okay,” Oliver says, wiping his face with the blankets.

He helps Connor get his legs down and around his waist, but bats Connor’s hands away when they try to reach for his dick.

“I need to put on a condom,” Oliver says, reaching for the ones he left on his nightstand. “I don’t think either of us are ready for you to have my babies just yet.”

Connor huffs and gets his hands on Oliver’s ass, trying to pull him closer at the same time he starts sucking a mark into Oliver’s collarbone.

“Fuck,” Oliver says, cock sliding between Connor’s ass cheeks, getting it wet with slick.

Oliver’s actually pretty proud of himself when he doesn’t end up ripping the condom on his haste to put it on, hissing a little.

“Oliver,” Connor pants, cheeks flushed and eyes dark, legs spread as wide as they can go. “I need to— You need to— Just _fuck me_ , fill me up, come _on_.”

“I know,” Oliver says, catching Connor’s lips in a kiss as he guides himself with one hand and pushes inside.

Connor is hot and tight and slick around him, so impossibly _good_ Oliver kind of wants to cry a little. They’ve done this before, many many times, with both of them getting fucked, but Oliver will never get over how it feels to fuck into Connor.

And doing so while Connor is in _heat_ only makes that feeling stronger.

Which is sort of a good thing, considering the amount of times he’ll have to do this until Connor’s heat is over.

Oliver doesn't even want to know what he'll do with himself if Connor decides he doesn't want to try a relationship after this is all done. He'll probably cry some. He'll definitely mope.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Connor sighs, head thrown back, his mouth going slack when Oliver starts to thrust.

“This is what you need?” Oliver asks, nipping at Connor’s bottom lip.

“Yes,” Connor moans against Oliver’s mouth, doing his best to fuck himself onto Oliver’s cock. His eyes are dark but clearer than they were before, and he stares right at Oliver when he says, “This is exactly what I need.”

Oliver groans, licking into Connor's mouth, kisses going from fierce to gentle to sloppy. He can feel Connor clenching around him every time he pulls back, as if trying to keep him inside, and he swallows every little noise Connor makes when he pushes back in.

And it's so good hearing Connor gasping his name, asking Oliver to _fuck me harder_ and _move faster_ and _I need to come please Oliver please_. Because it means Connor is still with him, still knows who Oliver is; it means that Connor's mind isn't so clouded by his heat that he doesn't realize it's Oliver there, doesn't recognize him from any other alpha that could give him what he needs.

Oliver wraps his fingers around Connor's dick, hard and flushed, the tip wet with precome, and starts jerking him off in time with his thrusts.

Connor stops kissing him in favor of panting against Oliver's cheek, breath wet and hot against the side of Oliver's face. His eyes are dark, hair matted to his forehead with sweat, hands clutching firmly at Oliver's ass and pulling him closer.

Oliver knows it won't take Connor long, recognizes the hitch on his breath and the way his mouth parts and the tensing of his muscles to mean that he's close to coming.

So Oliver helps him there, fucking him, speeding the movements of his hand, latching his mouth over the pulse on Connor's neck. His teeth rake over the soft skin there, just before he bites down, at the same time he flicks his thumb over the head of Connor's cock.

And that's it.

That's all it takes for Connor to tip over the edge, entire body tensing as he spills over Oliver's hand and makes a mess of them both. And Oliver follows as Connor's body goes slack, not needing anything else expect the warmth of Connor under him, the scent of Connor on his nose, the taste of Connor's salty skin on his tongue.

Connor slides a hand up and down Oliver's back while they catch their breaths, and doesn't even complain about the sloppy kiss Oliver gives him before he pulls out and gets up to get rid of the condom and get something to clean them up.

"You okay?" Oliver asks after they're clean, lying down on the bed by Connor's side.

"Never better," Connor says, voice rough and thick. "We're sure gonna have some fun with this."

"Oh?" Oliver raises an eyebrow at him.

"'S been a while since I spent a heat without suppressants," Connor tells him. "I don't remember enjoying them this much, and this one's just starting."

Oliver nods, knowing the duration of an omega's heat is about five days. "Do you want to spend the rest of it with me, then?"

Connor turns to look at him, expression serious. "I wouldn't mind it."

Oliver snorts, because sometimes getting a straight answer from Connor is like pulling teeth.

"What about after?" Oliver asks, even though he knows they're going to have to talk about this again after Connor's heat is over.

Connor blinks, lips turning up at the corners when he repeats, "I wouldn't mind it."

Oliver bites back a smile, feeling giddy. "We'll have a discussion about this later, when this is all done."

"Ugh, discussions," Connor groans, rolling his eyes.

"For someone who's going to law school, you sure don't like to talk," Oliver points out.

"Not about _feelings_ , no," Connor admits. "And not if I don't know if I'm going to win. Or if it's going to be worth it."

"It is," Oliver says firmly, and then smiles a little, "And some people would say I'm a catch. Anyone would be lucky to have me."

Connor gives him a long look, face softening. "Yeah, I think they might be right."

"So you're staying?" Oliver leans in, rubbing their noses together.

"I'm staying."

"Okay," Oliver says leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to Connor's lips. "I'll ask you again after your heat is over."

"Wouldn't want me to accuse you of coercion, would you?"

"No," Oliver shakes his head. " _Never_. When, _if_ , you do this, I want it to be because _you_ want to. Not because of anything else."

Connor nods, taking a deep breath before asking, "Are we done talking, then?"

"Why?" Oliver smirks. "Need me to fuck you again?"

Connor huffs, slapping Oliver in the ass. "That's exactly what I need."

"As you wish," is all Oliver says, pulling Connor on top of him.

* * *

They do talk after Connor's heat is over.

You know, when Connor shows up three days later with an overnight bag and takeout, clothes rumpled from a tiring day at work and his hair a mess.

"Ask me again," Connor says when Oliver opens the door.

"Will you stay?" Oliver asks, heart beating fast.

"Yes," Connor says, leaving no room for argument.

"Good," Oliver says, grinning. He reaches a hand and grabs Connor's lapels, pulling him into a kiss. "But tonight, you do me."

Connor laughs against his mouth, short and sweet. "As you wish."

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://dylansneck.tumblr.com/).


End file.
